


Could End In Burning Flames or Paradise

by HandsAcrossTheSea, trashhearts67



Series: alpha4alpha [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Dean Winchester, Dirty Talk, Knotting, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Scent Kink, Top Sam Winchester, Wall Sex, soft things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 03:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/pseuds/trashhearts67
Summary: It shouldn't be this easy, to fall in love with the one person that you shouldn't.Sam is seeking to prove what should be wrong.





	Could End In Burning Flames or Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I used a T-Swift lyric for the title but hey, it's been a good long while since you have, and "Style" fucking BOPS. Well, the Postmodern Jukebox version does.
> 
> Initially this story was going to be about Dean's fascination with the way that Sam's body has changed since they got together but SOMEONE (Cali) had to go and provide feelings and things and really, I just want to write them being close and intimate and figuring out the right notes to the song. That's all I ever want, is just boys in love even when the world says that they shouldn't.
> 
> AND SPEAKING OF ENABLING FRIENDS - I couldn't have done this story without Cali's help. The messages, the jamming, the ideas - I'm just the hammer banging this into shape. This story and this verse would not be a reality without her help, and even though she claims she didn't write any of it, she totally did. I love her. She's amazing, even if she is absolutely not the person who will take away my sippy cup full of smutty alcohol. I need better supervision.

“Is this making any sense to you, Dean?”

No answer. Not even a grunt.

Sam looks up from the microfilm he’s scrolling through, only to find Dean slouched down in his chair, arms folded across his chest with his head back, sound asleep. For all the noise he made about promising to help with research, Sam’s starting to think it was just an excuse to nap. Granted, this case is taking a little longer to bust but seriously,  _ come on.  _ It’s not like Sam wants to do all of it by himself.

Worse, he can kind of justify Dean sleeping. It’s late afternoon, it’s raining, and the Tulsa downtown library is quiet as a mausoleum, especially up here in the newspaper records. Chasing a cold case like this one is even more difficult, but it’s the only thing they’ve had in weeks now. Dean had found it solely by chance, and Sam is starting to wish that they hadn’t. A ghost,  _ maybe.  _ Sam isn’t much for torching historical buildings in the middle of old-money neighborhoods, but it’s looking more and more like that’s what they’ll have to do. Actually, it’s more like four buildings. But - if things keep being weird and spooky (Dean’s words, not his) around them, then that just means they haven’t done their job.

At least Dean could be awake for it.

Sam gets up and reaches for Dean’s chest, pinching him hard enough to make Dean yelp as he wakes. “ _ Fucker. _ ”

“Shhh, we’re in a library, and you’re supposed to be helping.” Sam’s chuffed that Dean has to rub at his chest, only regretting that he didn’t get his nipple. “Did you find anything before you fell asleep?”

Dean keeps regarding him with a frown, but shoves the notes he took to Sam anyway. “Two possible grave sites, both of which are in a private cemetery behind Silasberg Hall. Apparently, there’s been weird shit going down within a mile of the area since Harrison was president.”

“William Henry or Benjamin?” That’s important information to know, and Dean absolutely gives him a  _ you’re a geek, you know that  _ look. “Because this might reconcile with the film I was looking at.”

1888, Arlo Silasberg Jr., died in mysterious fall. No signs of disturbance or scuffle. Well, that answers when they last happened - and maybe when they started, too. Land protections have guaranteed the old block’s preservation, but not the buildings themselves from being torn down. “The last Silasberg died in 1891, and people have just… avoided it since then?” Sam scrubs his hands over his face, not at all willing to look at the family tree he’s put together and find out just who was pushing people out of windows for no reason.

“Guess so - Sam, can we leave this for a while?” Dean’s got that cross-eyed, headachey look that means they’ve spent way too much time trying in a dark, admittedly cold room. “I’m hungry.” It’s a blanket excuse, but Sam knows he’s not going to get any further use out of him today, and alright, Sam needs to clear his head too. Things are getting muzzy, and seeing as how this isn’t a super urgent thing, maybe squeeze in a little quality time with Dean. They’ve been on the road for a couple of days, nearly non-stop, and he just wants a little bit of bodily contact. Nothing drastic, just a movie and Dean’s scent on his skin. He’s not even picky about the movie.

“Yeah.” Sam gets up, takes the microfilm out of the reader, and boxes it back up. Dean watches him as he does, because that’s just something he’s used to, Dean’s eyes on him. Only it’s been a lot more than usual lately, and Dean looks at him a lot as it is. 

Maybe it’s a mated thing? Sam gives him a little smirk and shrugs on his jacket, feeling the pull in the shoulders once he’s got it on. He washed it a couple weeks ago, so maybe it shrank, but it’s definitely getting to be too small. Not much good for this rainy weather Oklahoma seems to be under at the moment, and it’s getting a little threadbare to boot. “What?”

“Nothin’ - hurry up, they have chili cheese fries across the street.” Dean stands with him, picks up their notes, and shoves them in Sam’s bag for him. He gives Sam another appraising little look and follows him back to the circulation desk, thanking the pretty librarian for his assistance (he’s an omega, but very definitely mated. Cute as fuck in those glasses, and Sam idly wonders if Dean would wear a pair like that for him.) 

Once they’re outside, Sam stretches the kinks out of his neck and back, the rain having lightened to a drizzle. Dean’s looking at him yet again, and Sam is starting to wonder if he missed a spot shaving this morning and Dean just hasn’t told him about it yet. “You alright?”

“Golden, Sammy.” Dean gets in the car, and Sam follows, placing his bag down between his feet as Dean leans over and scents his neck. They do that now, check each other out, by scent more than anything. Sam leans his head away, letting Dean find that spot behind his ear. Dean hums, contented for the moment, and starts the car.

“Everything check out okay?” Sam’s going to have fun with this, if Dean is going to be weird today. Of course, he’s always kind of weird, but separating the weird from just being Dean is a fine, time-consuming process, because there isn’t much definition where one starts and ends.

“Just… sit there.” 

Sam doesn’t particularly feel like eating chili cheese fries, his skin still itchy from sitting still for so long. They’re in a booth in the diner, Dean making unnecessarily pornographic noises as he chows down (which doesn’t help with Sam’s itchiness) and Sam picking at the table top. It’s flaking in places, and Sam isn’t particularly in the mood for just… sitting. And he’s not hungry.

Does he want to kiss Dean right now?

The cheese dripping down his chin pretty quickly answers that for him, and Sam decides that until Dean’s good and ready, he’s not going anywhere. “You gonna be okay for a while?”

Dean does at least bother to swallow before answering. “Huh?”

“Think I’m gonna hit the gym.” He could do with that ache in his muscles, the awareness of his own strength. Maybe then he’ll be more willing to trespass and probably commit a whole hell of a lot of arson later. Well… technically grave robbery as well, but maybe things will stop being funky in this section of town after they’ve torched the buildings. Old houses like that, anything can happen to them, really. 

“Weren’t you just there on Monday?”

“Yeah, but this one looks nice. Ish.” I’ll see you back at the motel, uh… later.”

Dean nods, tucking back into his fries, and Sam gets up, dragging his fingertips over Dean’s forearm and neck and he leaves. He hears the little moan he lets out, the slightest release of arousal pheromones; later, Sam promises himself. He wants to lift, run, get all of this nervous energy out before it manifests in some ugly way. 

The thing about being mated to Dean, it’s a high energy situation that part of Sam says, the natural, evolutionary way of doing things is being upset. They know when they’re getting to be too much for each other, when they need that time apart. For whatever reason, it’s always just before rut, like their bodies are telling them to stay away, or be killed. Dean hasn’t raised his hackles at him yet, because they both know what would happen. Dean’s a killer, just the same as him. 

And Sam very definitely doesn’t want to kill Dean. He  _ wants  _ Dean, and it’s never something that subsides, just cools down. There’s an addictive quality to touching, smelling, tasting him, his strong, alpha older brother, something sacred and immeasurably dirty to what they’re doing. How they’re doing it - but he’s Sam’s  _ mate,  _ signed and sealed, and both of them are so wildly aware of it that Sam can feel his heart trip with joy. 

It’s not easy, and he’ll readily admit to it. They do get at each other’s throats, but it’s not out of hate - it’s protection. Fear for the other, not  _ of  _ the other. That’s what makes it so hard, at times, but at the end of the day Sam can’t imagine any other reality. Dean is his, and Sam is Dean’s. 

Sam takes his key and pops the trunk, getting out his gym bag and looking back at the diner, Dean obscured from view by the line at the register. He knows he’s there, his scent strong even out here. He changes in the shadow of the Impala’s rear door, keeping his t-shirt but swapping his boots and jeans out for running shoes and sweats. The gym is a few blocks away, and once he’s sure he’s got what he needs, sets off at a run.

He’s not looking for answers, just peace of mind.

After that, Dean is free to look as much as he wants.

 

___

 

Sam is nearly sure that he’ll make it home before it starts to pour again. Seriously, the motel is two blocks, and he’s running back. Plenty of momentum to beat Mother Nature, get out of his sweaty clothes, maybe use up all the hot water.

He really needs to stop wishing for things.

The sky opens up like it’s the end of the world and within fifteen seconds he’s soaked so thoroughly that he’s no longer aware of his own sweat, just that he’s drenched and his hair is plastered to his face and neck like a sheet. His shoes slap hard against the ground and he has to stop running, unless he just really wants to eat shit on the sidewalk and end up with a couple missing teeth. He’s not exactly clumsy, but with as slippery as the concrete is, he’s not risking it.

The blare of a horn makes him stop, momentarily wondering if he’s drifted into the road by mistake. It’s Dean, slowing to a stop and yelling at Sam to get in. Sam nods, the door already unlocked as he gratefully gets in and slides into the passenger seat, taking the towel that Dean is already handing him. 

“How’d you know I was coming?” Sam wipes the water dripping from his face and runs it through his hair, suddenly aware of just how ripe he smells. Dean shrugs, then pulls back out into the road.

“Didn’t, actually. Heading to do laundry and saw you looking pissed at the sky. That was the towel we used to mop up last night, too.”

Sam holds it to his nose and yeah, it definitely smells like come and slick, but it is at the least, dry. Still, he’s too zonked from his workout to even try and be turned on right now, and considering that laundry is a long, boring process, that’s not a bad thing. “Could have told me that  _ before  _ you let me wipe my face with it.”

“Not like it’s anything you haven’t had on you before.” Dean holds the tip of his tongue between his teeth and wiggles his eyebrows, and Sam just shakes his head. It’s still kind of crazy, that they’re like this. That Dean continually, actively  _ wants  _ him. It makes him feel the slightest bit better about getting soaked to the bone, and he kind of likes it when Dean’s hand comes to rest on top of his thigh and stays there. 

Like he wasn’t possessive enough already, but wearing each other has made it even worse. They don’t really ever drift too far from each other, nowadays. Alphas aren’t supposed to get within ten feet of each other, blood be damned. The touching, the affection, it should be setting alarm bells off in his head continually.

So he spreads his legs a little wider and Dean’s hand slides further up his thigh, reaching for the inside of it and staying there. Never mind that he’s disgusting and wet, Dean is still there. He wants to kiss Dean, just because it’s been a few hours since he had the taste of him in his mouth. He’s pretty sure Dean wants that too, because they think two steps ahead of each other nowadays. Freaky, definitely. Sam’s tried to think about it, how they  _ do  _ that, but it simply  _ is. _

They pull up outside the laundromat, Sam carrying the majority of the laundry while Dean handles the detergent and other things, their jugs nearing empty. Dean claims a row of them on the back wall, hidden behind a tall row of other machines so that he can pull Sam to him, holding his chin while he kisses him good and hard. Sam groans, letting himself have just a couple moments to taste Dean’s mouth. If Dean wants this while their clothes are washing, he doesn’t have a problem with that. 

Sam is never going to tell Dean that it’s too much, that he needs to keep his hands to himself. No use in breaking his heart, or his own. 

“You gonna throw those in the wash, or am I just gonna have to sit here with your ripe ass until we get back to the motel?” Dean tugs at the soaked front of Sam’s jacket and t-shirt, made doubly uncomfortable by how hard they’re clinging to him right now. There’s no one else here right now, and Sam can  _ probably  _ stand to be in his boxer briefs until they’re done. He’s not exactly embarrassed about his body, and yeah, he does stink.

“I’ll toss them in with the towel.” Sam stands back and strips off, hearing the fabric tear because, once again, they’re too small, and then Dean is looking at him again, the same intense stare from the library. Sam drops his sweats, leaving him in just his damp underwear, and he’s reasonably sure that Dean’s not paying such close attention to him just because he’s most of the way naked.

“Okay, I wasn’t gonna ask earlier but, do I have something on my face I don’t know about?” Sam doesn’t  _ think  _ he does, but it’s not like he spends a ton of time in front of a mirror.

Dean licks his lips, and Sam feels heat settle in the base of his belly. “Sammy, when’s the last time you shaved. This morning, right?” He closes the distance between them, brushing his knuckles against the scruff on his jaw. “Nine hours ago, and you’ve already got pretty damned close to a beard.”

“So, my hair’s always grown fast.” Sam touches where Dean’s fingers just were, and yeah, he’s right. “That’s what you’ve been staring at all day?’

“Not just that, baby boy.” Dean’s hands skitter down his front, over his chest and abs, reverent in the way they touch his body hair. “You’re  _ huge,  _ right now. Like, look at me, Mr. Alpha Beefcake of the Month Huge.” Dean’s got that gleam in his eye that means he’s trying to keep instinct under control, and Sam swallows the urge to push Dean up against the bank of dryers behind them. “Why do you think that is, Sammy?”

“I… I’ve just been working out a lot. Been busy digging graves and stuff too.” Alright, the hair thing  _ is  _ freaky. His body never sprouted much before he mated with Dean, but nearly a year later and Sam has it… everywhere. His chest, lower stomach, all covered in dark brown. “I don’t know why I’m so...hairy. Is that bad?”

Dean laughs, fingers touching along the waistband of Sam’s low-riding underwear. “I swear to God if you ever take a razor to this I will personally break your fingers until you promise not to do it again. Treasure trail my ass, you have a goddamn  _ forest. _ ”

“You like my body hair?” Sam keeps his hands at his side, lets Dean keep exploring. He’s getting turned on, really fucking fast, and Dean needs to stop  _ now. _

“So… God, Sam, you really don’t know, do you? All of  _ this,  _ the hair, the muscles - why the hell do you think I can’t keep my hands off of you?” Dean’s hands are back on his chest, tracing the edges of his pecs, brushing his nipples. “Alphas wish they could be this.”

Sam stays quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of his heartbeat and spinning laundry to hear. “You don’t?”

“Can’t be jealous when it’s all mine anyway.”

“Never want to be anyone else’s.” Sam says it low, growling, because that’s  _ only  _ for Dean to know. “Like that it’s all yours.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s in his element now, seduction rolling off of him so obviously that Sam’s starting to not care that they’re in public. “Can’t lie, I’m greedy about it.” He dips his fingertips below Sam’s waistband, skimming along his hips. Sam exhales, wondering if they could do this, here and now.

He really, really wants Dean to touch his cock, milk his knot and take what he wants from him. Dean’s neediness is met, because Sam wants him just as badly. Sam likes it a little bit more than he lets on when Dean gets like this, focusing on him like nothing else in the world matters. There’s nothing wrong with that, not so far as he can tell. A normal pairing is the same way, alpha and omega. Paired for life, and Sam can feel the same permanence in his bones with Dean.

“Smell really fuckin’ good right now, Sammy.” Dean’s at his neck, inhaling as he slips his hand inside Sam’s underwear and squeezes his cock, groaning with desire when he feels how heavy with blood he’s gotten. “Shit, always smell good.”

Sam knows this is happening, and does nothing to stop it. He wants this, wants Dean, wants to listen to him moan when he touches him back and nips at his neck. “I stink like hell right now.”

“Not to me.” Dean licks at his jugular, working up to his jaw. “Remember that book you asked me about?”

“Yeah.”

“Lied when I said I had put it back on the shelf. Kept it, read up some while you were working out.” Dean leans back, but doesn’t stop messing with his cock. “Why you got so goddamn  _ big?  _ Nature, Sammy.” Another kiss, and Sam tastes the salt of his sweat on Dean’s tongue, hanging on to his every word. “Our bodies have convinced themselves that since we’re paired up now, there has to be one of us who adapts uh, reproducing traits. Kinda know who that is already.”

Sam nods, feeling himself leaking precome, and Dean’s fingertips at his slit as he smears it around. “And I packed on all this muscle so that I could keep you from running off to some other alpha?” Christ, it’s getting hot in here, and Dean’s wet, Sam can fucking  _ taste  _ it in the air, sweet as honey. “You better fuckin’ not.”

“Never.” Dean’s on his knees now, licking the skin he’s just revealed where he’s pulled Sam’s underwear down. His cock swings out, curved and thick, hovering above Dean’s face as another long string of precome seeps from him. “Body built itself for breeding, Sam, and goddamn if I don’t love that.”

Sam’s eyes close as Dean’s mouth envelops his cock, opened wide until he’s bumping against his knot, letting himself just hold Sam for a moment. Dean’s right, about all of it, the things nature changed without them really having words to put to it. Dean’s definitely not an omega - nothing about that changed. He’s all alpha, never will be anything  _ but  _ alpha, but there still has to be balance. They wouldn’t have made it this long without it, and nature quietly arranged for them to keep this going without killing each other.

Dean moans, and Sam watches as he unhooks his belt and gets his hand in his jeans, letting a strong waft of slick scent drift upwards. Sam bucks against Dean’s mouth, shoving his cock deeper, the need to claim and fuck taking over with startling quickness. Sam’s never been good at fighting this part, and once Dean has shown him that, his willingness and vulnerability, there’s not much else he can do until he’s slaked his thirst for it.

Only his cock is in Dean’s mouth, and he very definitely isn’t in control of this situation right now. It’s never really premeditated, who takes the keys when this happens. Some days, Dean lets Sam use his mouth until his throat is fucked raw and dripping, others, Dean shoves him back and is the world’s biggest fucking tease, making Sam thrash and growl and whine until he’s so edged that he soaks himself and Dean with come. 

What it is today, Sam’s not entirely clear, but when Dean’s head starts to bob up and down on him, he doesn’t fucking care. He’s horny, sweating, and alright, musky as hell, which is why Dean is giving him a world-class blowjob in the middle of a laundromat at six in the evening. 

Dean pulls back to slide his tongue under his foreskin, tracing around the head with the tip while he looks up at Sam, one hand on his shaft and the other rubbing his knot. He’s after everything Sam has to give right now, milking him with such agonizingly skilled practice that Sam’s thighs quiver, knowing that it’s not going to be long before Dean gets what he wants. Sam runs his fingers over his body, coating himself in his scent and pressing them to Dean’s cheek. It’s like Dean just took a hit of poppers, mouth falling from Sam’s cock with great sticky trails of spit and precome, nose pressed into Sam’s hand.

“That what you need, Dean?” Sam does it again, rubbing his balls as Dean swallows his dick again,  _ feeling  _ the change in Dean’s nature, getting greedier and greedier for his body. “Yeah, that’s it baby, take what you want.”

He’s going to come soon, his cock thickening further still, stretching Dean’s jaw to the limit. He’s never knotted his mouth fully, knows he can’t - but Dean staying down on him for that long latches on hard in his mind and stays there, groaning with every swipe of Dean’s tongue along his shaft, higher and higher until he’s coming, right down Dean’s throat, not a drop wasted. His vision whites out and his balance gets a lot less steady, coming and coming until he’s emptied himself completely.

Dean’s still on the ground, looking up at Sam with undisguised devotion. He’s built up too, swept up in the current of hormones Sam just hit him with. He scoops him up off the ground and shoves his tongue in Dean’s mouth, stripping his jeans down until Dean’s wet ass is hanging out, taking three of his fingers without the slightest resistance.

“Need it bad, Sammy.” Sam’s fucking him fast and hard, curling his fingertips against his prostate, feeling Dean working his cock between them. He’s got the scent of rut about him, not fully, just the same sharp-edged need that Sam feels, when they get desperate like this. “God, wanna fucking come, need… need  _ you. _ ”

Sam growls, switching them, knees hurting when he hits the ground and sucks Dean’s balls, fingers still deep in his ass. Their scent is overwhelming together, and Sam wants to wear it, the taste of his slick right fucking there. Dean’s on the verge of howling, knot swollen against Sam’s face, leaking precome on his skin.

“Shit, Sammy, I-” Dean comes, hard enough that he nails the washers on the other side, the rest dripping down Sam’s shoulders and back. It feels endless and soon Sam is soaked again, covered in the scent of alpha seed. He loves it, how it commingles with his own scent, a feedback loop of arousal that just makes him ready to pick Dean up and slam him down on his cock - but not here, their luck has already gone too far, and if they haven’t aroused the attention of every alpha and omega within half a mile, they’re stupidly blessed to have gotten away with it this long. He doesn’t let Dean go until he’s finished, lowering him to the ground and kissing him in a tangle of discarded clothing and sweating bodies, hungry for more, never truly sated.

“Anything else in that book I should know about?” Sam kicks off his underwear, completely naked, protected only by Dean in his lap. It’s a really shit place to cuddle, and Sam needs to put something on before they’re seen, but all of his clothes are currently spinning around and around for at least another thirty minutes - and that’s  _ before  _ he has to entertain the concept of actually moving Dean from his current position.

“Bedtime story for after you’ve bred me again, but that chapter on size is one  _ hell  _ of an interesting read.”

Honestly, if Dean is still coherent enough to read after Sam’s properly knotted him, then he hasn’t really done his job all that well.

But the sound of a challenge has its appeal, right?

 

___

 

           Sam has come to accept that no, he hasn't learned everything there is to know about Dean. Even knowing him his entire life, he's still coming to terms with information he finds out on a daily basis. Things that he never could have found out had specific circumstances not arisen when they did. Hell, he's coming to know  _ himself,  _ in ways that he never would have, were Dean not his mate. His perception has changed, for the better, and awareness that now he's got more than just the lives of others to protect.

           He has a mate to do it for now too. He's still a little - alright  _ a lot  _ \-  in awe of that fact that he knows what it feels like. Sam was never counting on getting to have that experience, much less than with Dean. He gets it now, however, why mates are so protective of each other. It’s probably making what they do even more dangerous, because now they’re trying to actively take bullets for each other - because it’s instinct, deeply rooted. That bond, the need to do more than just be there for Dean, it’s what compels him. Sam feels it in some moments more than others, and it’s hard to be away from Dean for more than a few minutes.

Taking his special trip this afternoon while being cryptic to Dean about it had been...difficult. Sam had had to drive an hour and a half in both directions to find what he was looking for, and by the time he had gotten back to Dean, things were getting, well, rough. Sam hadn’t realized how much his hindbrain had been trying to force him into turning around, and it had broken his heart a little to see Dean all worked up and worried like that, desperately trying to not be clingy while holding Sam so tight he had nearly squeezed the breath out of him.

He’s been back in the motel for two hours now, and Dean hasn’t moved more than an inch away from him ever since. He had returned to Dean wearing one of his plaids, sniffing the collar and looking extremely grateful that Sam had returned - even if he was a little irritated by Sam simply giving his reason for leaving as a “surprise.”  In fact, it’s the  _ only  _ thing Dean is wearing right now, Sam’s scent enveloping literally. 

Sam doesn’t for a minute believe that his trip was wasted, in spite of the emotional stress he had unwittingly caused for the both of them. He had just had an itch that needed to be scratched, one that he hasn’t shared with Dean since before Stanford. Finding the good stuff for alphas is difficult, but there’s a guy in Decatur that Sam’s kept tabs on for a good while, and since they were in the area, well… it hadn’t been hard for Sam to get in touch and see him.

Dean’s relaxed slump against Sam’s naked chest just reaffirms that he made the right decision. He’s idly playing with their bong, smoke lingering in the air as Sam rubs his nose against Dean’s hair. They’re well and truly stoned, and Sam feels  _ fantastic.  _ Happy. He’s naked, because apparently skin to skin contact when you’re high as shit feels really fucking good. 

“Is there… uh, more?” Dean looks up, holding the bong to the light like he’s looking for flaws in it. “Cause I really want there to be more.”

“Dunno.” Sam reaches for the nightstand and yeah, there’s more, a lot more, because their guy is  _ awesome.  _ Didn’t even question the weird scent Sam came in with, a mixture of Dean and himself, muskier than normal because Sam ran out of deodorant the day before and he couldn’t be bothered to put any more on. “Shit, Dean, you...hold still?”

Dean giggles, face planted in Sam’s chest. “I’m doin’ it.” Dean helpfully suspends the bong up and Sam packs it, urging Dean to sit up so he can light it without setting them both on fire. Dean gets there, halfway, taking another hit as Sam lights it for him. The sheer pleasure that spreads over his face makes Sam feel giddy, and he kisses Dean right as he exhales, the sweet smoke laced with the taste of Dean’s mouth. He’s done that a whole lot this evening, letting his body tingling with every touch of Dean’s lips. He’s content to remain right where he is, even if nothing actually happens tonight and God knows they needed a night off, every muscle in Sam’s body aching from grave digging the past four nights.

It helps that Dean keeps rubbing whatever muscle happens to be in reach at the moment like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, with particular focus on his arms. Dean’s taken with them, tracing his fingers over the curve of his biceps, tracing the veins down through his forearms, kissing the flex of his tricep every time Sam’s arm bends because Dean’s apparently horny and Sam making a muscle does it for him.

And yeah, he’s done it on purpose a couple of times, just to watch Dean melt even further. Big, badass Dean, grade a certified scary alpha hunter, and he’s brought to his knees by Sam popping his bicep. Just one, because Dean’s an easy fire to start and Sam is having fun exploiting him. It shouldn’t be, but Sam has long since learned that there are lots of things he shouldn’t be doing and continues to anyway.

Dean settles back again, rubbing Sam’s stomach and forearm. “Like your muscles, Sammy.” His fingertips tickle, and Sam laughs, trying to roll away. Dean huffs, grabbing Sam back to him as he resumes his journey. “Seriously, like… fuckin’ He-Man.”

“Does that make you She-Ra?”

Dean looks at him, aghast, gobsmacked before he gives Sam the  _ biggest  _ eye roll that Sam has ever gotten out of him. “You’re a little bitch, you know that.” He huffs, but doesn’t stop outlining Sam’s abs. “Just cause I’m on bottom doesn’t… no, you’re still a little bitch.”

Sam sits up and rolls over onto Dean, nipping his jaw. “You really gonna let your masculinity be that fragile right now,  _ alpha _ ?” Moving that quick kind of made Sam dizzy, and it takes a second longer than it should for Dean to come back into focus. “And she was his  _ sister,  _ so that…”

Dean’s giving him a look, and yeah, Sam is intensely aware of the irony. “Could have just let me have my fun.” He has his hands on Sam’s biceps, fingers wrapped around them where they’re bulging. He’s looking up at Sam, glassy-eyed and grinning, perfectly content with his current situation. “And besides, didn’t once say I didn’t  _ like  _ being on the bottom.”

“I like you there too.” Sam leans in and for a moment, the bong is forgotten, hungry for the damp heat of Dean’s mouth and tongue with his own. Dean still has him by the arms, unwilling to relinquish his hold. Sam flexes them as best he can, growling and shoving Dean’s legs apart with his knee. He isn’t hard, not yet, but Dean’s rapidly pulling them in that direction. It’s been a long time since he’s fucked around while high, but it doesn’t really seem to be something to be worried about.

Dean pulls him down on top of him, legs wrapped around Sam, stroking his hair and back, hands anywhere he can get them, really. They’re touchy when stone cold sober, way more than a couple of alphas should be but it’s like a fucking magnetic pull, both of them completely unable to go more than a few minutes without making contact of some sort. Sam’s seen alphas with their omegas, even the particularly close-knit pairs - and it’s still nothing like him and Dean.

Sam growls, and Dean somehow opens up further to him, offering Sam his throat freely. “Know that ought to fuckin’ scare me off but fuck, Sammy, can’t get fuckin’ enough of you.” He’s burrowed himself nearly completely under him, hardening against Sam’s thigh. “Love how fucking  _ big  _ you got, baby boy.”

“Yeah?” Sam leans back, pulling himself upright and making his pecs pop, putting on a show that he absolutely would be blushing about if he was sober. “‘S all yours, Dean.” God, it feels  _ good  _ to say and know that, to let Dean have that kind of unchecked access to him. “Never really was anyone else’s.”

Dean growls, greedy as he drags his fingers over Sam’s hips and goes right for his cock, holding him where he’s thickening, tugging so that Sam’s foreskin pulls back. “Mine, Sammy,  _ mine. _ ” He’s slurring a little, but his hand is steady and Sam puts his arms up, curling his fists and letting Dean see the power of his body, all of it for him. Dean licks his lips and pulls back, kissing him with a greediness that threatens to bite through Sam’s bottom lip. They haven’t fucked in a couple of days and hell, Sam couldn’t care less  _ how  _ he has Dean right now - just so long as he has him. He’s fully hard, dripping precome against Dean’s belly where they’re rutted together, sliding without coordination.

Their cocks catch against each other’s skin, over and over, the heat rising from Dean’s body like a furnace. It isn’t time for rut, not for another two weeks, and yeah, the weed in their systems is blunting things a little but that’s fine, just fucking  _ dandy  _ with Sam. Dean keeps moaning, growling, indolent in moving any further than rocking his hips against Sam’s.

So long as Dean’s tongue stays in his mouth, Sam’s good with that. He’s high, suddenly really fucking horny, and Dean’s making out with him like it’s his only goal in life. He hasn’t stopped stroking his fingers through Sam’s hair, scraping over the back of his neck, making Sam shudder over and over with the sensation.

“Dean,” Sam moans, trapped in his own dulled awareness. “Fuck, you’re wet, aren’t you?” He reaches down between them and fuck, the insides of Dean’s thighs and the cheap motel sheets are rapidly staining with Dean’s slick, getting more copious when Sam presses his finger against him into that perfect warmth,  _ just like a girl, Sam thinks,  _ as much as it takes for whatever Sam wants. 

Dean’s head falls back, legs going that much wider, licking Sam’s mouth. “Damn near constantly, Sammy.” The confession slips easily from him, and Sam growls, wetting his fingers and slicking Dean’s cock up with it, jamming himself into the tight hold of his own fist. Dean’s thick enough that with the two of them there it’s difficult to get his fingers wrapped around both of them,  _ proper alpha cocks, perfect for leaving omegas begging,  _ and when he starts to stroke them, Dean moans loudly enough to rattle his teeth.

“Let me hear you Dean, give me that pretty fuckin’ mouth.” Sam bites his earlobe, his jaw, anything that makes Dean louder. Dean complies, full-throated and happily,  _ that’s it Sammy, right there, hold me the fuck down and use me, swear it’s okay,  _ holding onto Sam’s shoulders, their knots bumping over and over again. Sam never thought that would feel good but fuck, it does, works Dean right there on it, just under the base, milking him until there’s so much precome pooled on Dean’s stomach that it looks like he’s pissed himself.

Dean getting this wet from dry humping is  _ absurdly  _ hot, and Sam can feel his orgasm already starting to take hold, fucking his fist against Dean’s cock, body flooded with hormones and hazy desire, spurred by Dean’s teeth biting where they may, just so long as he doesn’t fucking stop.

“Sammy, baby, shit, I’m… fucking coming,  _ Sam _ .” Dean tenses up, held tight against Sam’s body, alpha rut scent and come filling the air of the room and fuck, Sam’s there, right there with him, coating Dean and himself, knot swollen so that he can’t get his fingers around himself and Dean anymore and it lasts and lasts, moaning and growling until Sam feels like he’s got nothing left in him. Dean kisses him, not at all focused, content to miss Sam’s mouth and get his cheek and chin.

“Uh… think we need a towel, Sam.” Dean makes no move to let Sam up and provide it, instead wrapping his arms and legs around Sam even tighter so that it smears and sticks in his body hair. “‘S a lot.”

Sam laughs, come-drunk and enormously satisfied. “You’re a lot.”

Dean hums agreement, high enough now that it’s apparently not even worth shooting back at Sam. 

Sam, for his part, can live without the witty retort.

Just this once.

___

 

“Sammy, wake up.”

Sam grunts, turning away from Dean’s hand where it’s poking him in the side. “Go away.” He’s trying his best to catch up on sleep, even in the cramped space of the Impala’s front seat. Last night he hadn’t rested worth a damn (no thanks to Dean’s loud snoring) and it’s been rough on him today, barely staying awake to get their shit packed and on the road again. They’re heading for the northwest end of Utah, Box Elder County, to check out something that sounds an awful lot like another ghost hunt. Sam yearns for something a little more exciting but it’s probably a good thing that’s all they’re handling - exciting means dangerous. Not that ghosts aren’t, but… they’re easier.

And he’s tired, insanely so, and he’s still not entirely clear as to why. Just the last couple of nights, really, and it’s frustrating he can’t figure  _ why.  _ Dean hadn’t helped, but the night before, he’d been as still and quiet as he could be. He and Dean aren’t fighting or anything, not more than they usually do. So - what the hell is bothering him?

“Not gonna - now get up and pump gas, I’m gonna get some snacks.”

The Impala’s engine shuts off, and Dean slams the door unnecessarily hard to jolt Sam awake. Grumbling, Sam gets out and walks around to the rear of the car, the smell of gasoline making his head ache. It’s like every little smell lately has been getting to him, from Dean’s onion rings at lunch yesterday to the rotting corpse they had to look at for their case in Madison last week. “The book” as Dean calls it - and it’s the easiest title, as the actual one is a mouthful - has offered nothing on the impact of alpha/alpha emotional bonds in the long term. Yeah, the physical stuff has been detailed,  _ with pictures,  _ and it’s offered up some extremely interesting reading, but Sam figures its something up with that.

Omegas need that inner desire fed just the same as the physical, and… Dean hasn’t exactly been open to that sort of thing. Talking about it. They’ve been doing this for a while now, long enough that they should probably at least  _ tried  _ to talk about it. The touching, the constant need for contact is there, and more than satisfied but Sam, well… Sam still needs that reassurance. And not just in the heat of sex, either. There’s enough said then that Sam’s glad that it isn’t necessarily meant afterwards - some of it, anyway.

Alphas  _ shouldn’t  _ require that sort of emotional security, given that their loyalty is supposed to be instinctual, unspoken. They provide it for their mates, and Sam would be, and tries to, for Dean. But he’s still Dean, and talking it out has never been something they’re good at. It’s easier to kiss, hold each other at night, smirk and make eyes, a million little tells that ought to let Sam know it’s okay, this isn’t ending, that Dean isn’t going to go after some willing omega whose scent he catches on the breeze.

With a huff, Sam leans against the trunk and fidgets, perturbed at nothing and everything, hoping like hell that this damn pump hurries itself up so he can get back in the car and at least make an attempt at putting something between himself and the fumes. Seriously, it’s head pounding today, and Sam just… doesn’t want to be out here right now.

The thump of trap music makes him growl, and he watches the truck pull up to the front of the gas station and two women get out, pretty, laughing, cleavage and legs for days - exactly the sort of things Dean likes, because he’s Dean, and not even Sam can stop his eyes from wandering like that. They’re things that Sam doesn’t have, not in that sense, and it kind of frustrates him that he can’t be that completeness for him.

Alright, that’s  _ part  _ of what’s bothering him, and lately he’s been noticing Dean checking out girls more than normal, and yeah, it’s enough to make Sam’s insecurities flare up. He spares himself watching them go into the store, because he can see Dean in line and he’ll definitely notice them. Crudely put, like a bug to a zapper.

Sam does chuckle, just a little, and rubs his face with his free hand. Maybe getting some rest will help calm his anxiety and make him not snap at Dean for being himself. Good God, it’s him that Dean curls up with every night, safe and warm, and it  _ is  _ enough.

He hears the music start back up and the girls drive away, and not a moment later Dean is back with an armful of food; he looks like he bought out the store, and hands Sam an entire bag of snacks.

“Had those rainbow things you like.” Dean leans against the trunk with him, eyes sparkling with desire for the mini pie he’s about to demolish. Sam rifles through the bag and sets it aside, concentrating on the oil-stained concrete underneath them. “You still eat those every now and then, Mr. Rabbit Food, right?”

Sam shrugs, packing away his thoughts now that Dean is back out here with him. Silly, he thinks, completely silly.

“Sure,” Sam offers, leaning automatically into Dean’s scent. Even over the smell of gas and cigarette smoke, Dean still stands out, musk and leather, a little gunpowder thrown in to give him that extra bit of dangerous. “Uh...thanks.”

The pump shuts off, and Sam gets in the car, taking his bag with him. Dean follows a second later, touching Sam’s face to get his attention. 

“You okay?” It’s plainly evident that he’s not been sleeping well, the circles under his eyes dark, and Dean probably noticed well before this point. “Cause you don’t exactly smell okay. Musk isn’t as strong, or...something.”

“‘M fine,” Sam says, suddenly very interested in his candy. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, right after I kill every demon in hell.” Dean’s like a dog with a bone, and Sam’s desire, most and least, is about to be forced out. “I’m your fucking mate Sam, I’m compelled to worry.”

Sam nods, finally looking halfway at Dean. “You’re...okay with that, right.”

“What, worrying about you? I’d rather you  _ not  _ make me worry, but yeah.” Dean pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Wait…”

“Like I said, just… don’t worry about it. Seriously, it’s fine, I’m just being… you know.” Sam’s words have abandoned him, every last one of them, and now he can feel the flush of embarrassment rising to his cheeks. “We need to get moving.”

“Ghosts aren’t going anywhere, Sammy, we got time. Look at me.” Sam obeys, chin held in Dean’s fingers. “This? Nothing I regret for a second, Sam. Not one fucking moment. And if you need to hear it, you tell me. Eats me up when we’re not in sync, and shit, baby boy, I feel it too. Never liked seeing you like this then, don’t like it now. Mine and yours, got it?”

Sam nods, hating that he’s getting emotional, and Dean kisses him, agonizingly sweet, pushing himself against Sam’s body to cup the back of his head and sink himself into the warmth of his mouth, the car behind them honking rudely. Dean flips them off, pulls Sam closer, and doesn’t let him go until the arousal pheromones are starting to permeate the air and Sam’s chest is tight enough to pop.

Dean pulls back, running his thumb along Sam’s jaw. “Don’t ever think you’re not worth that kind of attention from me, Sammy.”

And just like that, Sam’s feeling better, Dean’s hand on his thigh as he contemplates what to eat, the horizon soon to bring them the great salt flats and maybe, at the end of it, a little time off.

Sam certainly wouldn’t hate that, and even if he won’t say it, Dean wouldn’t either. They need a couple of days, even if it’s not with them exclusively, but...just a couple of days. No pressure outside of what to have for dinner.

Yeah, Dean  _ can’t  _ be opposed to that, can he?

 

___

 

Sam will grant that their lives are full of a hell of a lot of unpredictability. They hunt and kill things that shouldn’t exist for one thing, don’t know where their next stop will be, if the motel won’t be a flea pit, and so on. He could frame it as keeping things interesting, but God, it fucking sucks at the best of times and it’s the truly unexpected that grouses him the worst.

Sioux Falls. Sam had been looking forward to touching down all day, a couple days of working vacation (he really wants to see if Bobby has any relevant information to alphas that he may not know) and just a fucking break, and yes, he’ll be sleeping in a huge, creaky bed but it’s one of the most comfortable mattresses he’s ever laid on and the constant run of bad motel beds is starting to make his back ache. Yes, Sam is ready, for rest and recuperation.

He had been anyway.

A mile outside the city limits, they had hit a deer.  A big one. Out of all the things to nail them on the road, they’ve been pretty good about not hitting wildlife, but this one had jumped right out in front of them and fucked the car up enough that the radiator is busted and it had been to Bobby’s unnecessarily smug glee that they had had to call him for a tow. In the process of collision and helping Bobby rig the car up to the truck, Dean had messed his arm up.

So Sam’s stuck with trying to fix the car with Dean supervising, it’s hot, he’s irritated, and really all he wants to do is shut Dean’s mouth up. With his fist, cock, or tongue, he can’t decide which, but Dean has been giving him a long, unnecessary history of road accidents that Sam could give less of a shit about. He just wants to fix the car and not move for a while. 

That this is the first time they’ve been back to Bobby’s since John died is also weighing on him, like his ghost is still present and he knows exactly what they’ve done. Sam’s wrestling with a hell of a lot of guilt right now, and Dean isn’t exactly doing much to assuage him. No, he wants to talk about accidents and offer what is in his own mind, extremely helpful advice on what Sam  _ should  _ be doing.

Alpha healing ability, his ass. Dean’s probably fine, he’s just enjoying watching Sam suffer.

“That doesn’t go there, Sam.” Dean has come down from his perch just inside the shed door, now standing next to Sam at the Impala’s mangled front end. “And you should get Bobby to help you lift that in place, it’s heavy.”

“Can hold you up, can’t I?” Sam wrestles another twist of metal free, dragging it to the scrap pile. Again, it would be going faster if Sam could find a fucking tutorial that doesn’t include Dean’s smug anecdotes. “And I liked you better over there.”

“Had to make sure you were doing it right.” He’s leaning over Sam’s shoulder, close enough that he can smell the sweat dripping down Dean’s neck. “Look at that, you can follow instructions.”

Sam grumbles, seriously considering whacking Dean with the wrench he’s just picked up. “Go away.”

Dean laughs, going back to his stool, favoring his right arm against his side. He’s quiet for a few minutes, letting Sam work in peace. Believe it or not, Sam has actually paid attention all of those times that Dean has let him work on the car. He doesn’t hate the work, really - he’s always been good with his hands. Dean can make fun all he wants, but Sam does give a shit what happens to the Impala, always has.

He’s just gotten used to the repetitive lull of the wrench turning when Dean comes back, standing next to him again. “Hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“You think Bobby uh, knows. About…” He gestures back and forth between them, the concern obvious enough that Sam stops what he’s doing to wipe his oily hands on the rag he appropriated. “Because I’m not sure if we should - can - tell him. If he doesn’t already.”

“Would it make any difference if he did, Dean?” Sam crosses his arms, looking towards the house. “I mean… I don’t think he would be pissed. Surprised, maybe mystified but it’s Bobby, so… he might already know.”

Dean chews his lip, nervous all of a sudden, wincing when his arm brushes the motor lift nearby. “Not like we’ve been hanging all over each other since we got here or anything.” There’s a wisp of desire in that statement and yeah, this project has kind of taken priority but still… Sam wants to touch him. A lot.

“Yeah.” He turns back to his project, letting out his breath slowly. “We will, Dean, just… I like it being  _ our  _ thing.” It might not be entirely true, but they’re the only people who  _ know  _ explicitly. The omegas they’ve encountered regard them with fascination, drawn to them in the bars and diners that blend into their everyday lives. Alphas look at them with suspicion and awe, wondering how the hell they stay so close without going after each other. Sam hadn’t really noticed until recently, just because the first thing he’s always going to pay attention to is Dean, and the rest of the world can fuck off.

But the rest of the world is a hell of a lot bigger than them, and eventually someone or something in it is going to have a problem. They’re already beating nature pretty hard, and since when does luck roll anything other than snake eyes for them? Dean rubs Sam’s chest, the green plaid he’s wearing sticking to his skin with sweat when Dean puts his hand there.

“You know I’m all gross right now.” Sam doesn’t stop him, not when Dean’s fingers touch along the dip of his collarbone, leaving marks in the dust and grit that’s covering him. Dean nods, leaning in close to inhale. He growls approvingly, pushing Sam back towards the workbench, something clattering when Sam’s weight bumps into it. He’s careful not to jostle Dean, letting him explore and take his scent, the most extended contact they’ve had in three days. He rests his hand on Dean’s hip, fingers leaving greasy tracks against the thin cotton of his gray t-shirt. There’s no hiding the mark, but Sam doesn’t care.

He wants Dean, and he’s gotten over enough of his frustration to admit it. The fucking car can wait, and if Bobby walks in, so be it. They’ve done a piss poor enough job of hiding it so far, and Bobby’s no idiot. He’s always run interference for them, even when he knew it would make John furious as all hell. Sam really has to thank him for that, has never really known how, but he will, one day.

Dean mouths at Sam’s jaw, licking through his scruff, never mind the salt and grime covering him. “Want you,” he whispers, reaching for Sam’s belt with his good hand, so, so close to tipping them both over the edge-

“Dean! C’mere, I got something to show you!” Bobby’s voice cutting across the yard has Dean springing back, wiping his mouth and immediately looking sorry. Sam lets him go, hunger and hollowness at Dean just jumping away filling his throat and chest. He wants to run after him, but it’s better for Dean to go rather than Bobby come looking for them. 

He tamps his emotions back down and watches Dean leave, staying in place as he fights with his own body to calm down. Dean being that close, sweat reeking with his pheromones and a whole lot of delayed gratification, has Sam grinding the heel of his hand against his swelling cock, groaning at not getting what he wants. He can smell Dean from the house, his scent rich and sweet on the wind. Sam wants to drown in it, lick his neck and mouth, taste his body until he’s made Dean come so hard he forgets his own fucking name.

Sam takes off his plaid, leaving him in just a gray tank top. Lifting the shirt away reveals to him just how ripe he is right now, as much from sweating and lusting as his having given up deodorant completely - he likes his own fucking musk. A lot. Wearing it has been a losing battle at the best of times, alpha pheromones overpowering even the best stuff at the end of the day. 

He takes a whiff of himself, indulgently, putting his arm back down before he’s lost in his own body. He may yet get what he wants from Dean, hooked on getting more to the point that he’s starting to not care if they’re found out. 

But he has to fix the fucking car, or things are gonna get rough. Dean can only stay pinned in one place for so long, and they have a week before their next rut starts - and that’s something Bobby has absolutely no need to witness. They’re gonna have to choose carefully where that happens, having already left a chain of ruined motel rooms in their wake that had them checking out in the middle of the night without so much as a note of apology to the cleaning staff. Somewhere with sturdy furniture, a bed that won’t break, and a bathtub big enough to hold both of them.

It’s a fantasy, but Sam lets his mind wander through it for a while, dreaming of a post-sex nap in warm, deep water, Dean against him while he scrubs himself or talks or whatever he wants to do, really, because it would still be with him. He sighs, wanting Dean to just come back and finish what he started, because now Sam’s horny and he wants him. 

He  _ always  _ wants Dean, even out here on this grease stained floor with their car fucked up enough that Sam really needs some no-bullshit instruction from his brother to make this work. Even if it’s just kissing, a lot of it, Sam could live with that, Dean’s tongue in his mouth and letting the musk do its thing, yes, that’s perfect.

Wishing makes him feel hot all over, and with a huff he reaches up and takes the hair tie from around his wrist, knotting his hair up as best he can and pulling it to a bun, the soft  _ holy shit  _ accompanied by the sound of glass shattering behind him making him whirl around with his hands still on the back of his head. Dean’s standing there, a beer bottle shattered on the ground between his feet, mouth open where he’s staring at Sam.

“You okay?” Sam finishes tying his hair back and realizes Dean’s not staring at his face, not even his chest. He lifts his arms a little higher, sniffing the air and fuck, yeah, he knows  _ exactly  _ why Dean stopped where he did. He turns his head and kisses his greasy bicep, just to see what Dean will do.

The low, lust-broken growl Dean lets out tells him everything he could ever possibly want to know.

“Go on, Dean, know you wanna lick ‘em.” Sam stretches, pulling his arms skywards, sweat making his pit hair stick to his skin. The scent of his own body fills the air and Dean takes a step closer, hesitant because Sam could very well be fucking with him, just to have something in his arsenal for later. He gets that, but God, he doesn’t think he could be throwing up any more clear of a signal. “‘S all for you, trying to get you back out here.”

Dean holds his tongue behind his lips, arousal hugging the air tight to his body, even more pronounced now than a few minutes ago. “Not a trick?” It’s like he can barely get even those three words out, torn between surrendering his control over to his body and fleeing, because this isn’t  _ something alphas do.  _ They don’t lick those places where scent originates, not when there’s the chance they could fuck it up, change something so fundamental about their bodies.

That ship has kind of sailed already, but they’re still letting each other near a very intimate, private place of their physicality. Sam has  _ never  _ let anyone touch him here, sensitive and sacred, but he trusts Dean. With his life, with his body, just...everything.

“Wouldn’t lie to you about this, I swear.” 

Sam’s blood is pounding so hard in his ears that he can’t hear anything, Dean finally close enough to make the gap between them disappear. “This… Sam, are you sure?” Dean knows what he’s about to do, that Sam is giving him permission to be this close and take what he needs. Sam isn’t even sure if this is a thing for him, but the  _ idea  _ is enough. Dean being a part of that idea is enough. He’s not touching him yet, and Sam is starting to get nervous. This is not going how he thought it would, and he’s starting to lose his conviction that this is what Dean wants; he smells his musk, he doesn’t actually want to-

Dean holds him still, tilting his head and licking up from the bottom of Sam’s left pit to his bicep, pulling back like he just fucked up  _ bad  _ and that’s when Sam grabs him, kisses him hard enough to make his damn head spin. Dean growls, holding Sam’s face with both hands, only wincing a little when Sam hauls him so that they’re leaning against the trunk, only for Sam to go down on top of the warm metal and for Dean to climb on him. His arms get pinned, Dean growling  _ keep ‘em there  _ and fuck yeah, Sam can get behind this, Dean in the fucking lead for once and just  _ taking.  _

It’s one thing for Dean to beg, whine, need Sam’s knot but this? Sam loves it. Loves the way Dean growls at his throat and licks his collarbone, hands kept in place as he licks into Sam’s left pit. This should be a huge violation of agency, Dean’s tongue against skin that’s so often untouched that he should be ripping his windpipe out.

“Dean, don’t fucking  _ stop. _ ”

Another growl, Dean’s tongue rough at one turn like sandpaper but then it’s soft, wet, absolutely perfect as he follows the curve of his shoulder and the top of his lat, getting his fill of one pit and then going for the other, and Sam can’t do anything but moan. Dean’s found that place on him, the one spot that has Sam reduced to begging just like when he’s between Dean’s legs and licking him out until he’s shaking so hard that Sam is positive he’s finally managed to break him.

The scent of Dean’s arousal lies heavy on the air, pressing in and down on Sam’s lungs and he can’t stand this anymore, sweet fucking torture at its best; Sam shoves Dean off, kissing him with greed and possessiveness, his taste clashing salty-wrong with Dean’s in his mouth. He yanks Dean’s jeans off, spins him around and sees that Dean has leaked so much that it’s dripping down his thighs, his hole so, so shiny wet that Sam doesn’t even have to do anything but pull Dean flush to his body, cock shoved between those fucking ridiculous, gorgeous legs, biting down hard on the back of Dean’s shoulder, enough to make him yelp.

“Shit, Sammy, you’re a fuckin’  _ animal. _ ” Dean’s crying out, the slip-slide of wet flesh loud in the shed, slick fucking  _ gushing  _ from Dean’s ass the further Sam’s teeth sink into his shoulder. He’s so stupidly turned on that he can’t think straight, rutting into the tight hold of Dean’s thighs, chasing his orgasm with abandon. 

“Knew you’d be a slut for it, Dean.” Sam’s gone over the ledge, mouth running without so much as a tap on the brakes. “Gonna stay like this, just for you, want you to know how fuckin’ bad I want you.” He’s close,  _ right there,  _ fucked up on all the things that Dean does to him, wrong in every way but Sam can’t quit him, not now or ever. “Love tasting me in your mouth,  _ knowing  _ I’m the only one who can give you that.”

Dean groans, hands pinned behind his back, held in place so that Sam can use him. Sam’s knot is swelling, making it harder and harder to thrust - not a fucking problem, because Sam comes with a roar, splattering all over the hood and Dean’s legs, smelling, tasting,  _ wanting  _ nothing but his brother, his alpha, riled up and threatening to break free and take from Sam just the same as Sam has done to him.

Sam lets him go, his cock dripping as he gets to his knees and shoves Dean face first down into the trunk, growling for Dean to fucking spread ‘em. He dives in, licking and licking, chasing the trails of sticky-clear where they’ve run down his legs. He tastes himself in that too, his come all over Dean’s balls and hole, a mess of stuck hair and bodily fluids. He laps it up, tugging and milking Dean’s cock, his knot huge and begging to plug between Sam’s thumb and forefinger. He gets aggressive, growling loud enough that Dean ought to be kicking him so hard that he flies backwards.

“That all you got,  _ alpha _ ?” Dean’s got his hand in Sam’s hair, pulling at his bun, pressing him in and up, making Sam’s tongue reach deeper and lick inside, tasting the sharp burst of sweat and body. He’s got Dean close, already, and it’s good, too good, and Sam wants to fucking stay here forever. Dean claws at the trunk with his other hand, shouting through the pain still blooming from his shoulder and Sam tries to ache in sympathy but Dean finally gives in, coming and coming all over the bumper, Sam, just fucking  _ everywhere,  _ only stopping when he pushes away and drops to the floor, facing Sam, catching his breath and licking up the mess that Sam left for himself.

Sam grins, satisfied, shoving his jeans the rest of the way off and giving his cock long, showy strokes. He’s still hard, enough of them in the sluggish air to keep him that way for a long fucking time. He leans back against a stack of dry-rotted tires, filthy and feeling every bit of it. “You’re lucky we aren’t inside right now, or I’d have you filled so deep you’d taste me in the back of your fucking throat.” 

“Man, shut up.” Dean’s hazy with it, hurting and in overdrive; he definitely got more of whatever just happened than Sam did, hormones racing to figure out what the fuck just happened. “Knew you’d stopped fucking wearing deodorant.”

“You complaining?” Sam lifts his arm, licks where Dean had been and that has him scrambling towards Sam, flattening them out on the grimy floor, demanding access with a bite to Sam’s mouth.

“Bobby’s gonna kill us.” Dean has Sam’s face cradled in his hands, fighting instinct and his own sense, neither one of them really able to put an end to it. “Don’t fuckin’ care.”

“Dean, slow down, I…” Sam grabs his biceps, afraid that Dean’s putting himself in a dangerous headspace. “There’s no rush.” God, Sam’s just as charged but they  _ have  _ to slow down, before they end up hurting each other, either by design or accident. “You know what happened the last time we overdid it.”

It had turned into a snarling, bloody-mouthed wrestling match, with both of them unable to pull away because they didn’t listen, didn’t check in and Sam had taken a little more than he should have. Dean’s heading there, and he’s not going to let that happen again. Once was enough, and Sam doesn’t really want to come at Dean like that ever again.

Dean looks down at him, at the mess between them, their cocks still hard and heavy with blood against each other. “Yeah, Sammy, I’m… yeah.” He climbs off of him, bare-assed on the concrete, but still in reach. “I didn’t hate that, just so you know.”

“Me either.” Sam sits up, scrubs a dirty hand over his face and tries to pull his jeans back up, getting them halfway before deciding it’s not worth it at the moment. “I’m sorry I cut you off there, but… man, I don’t wanna fuckin’ hit you like that again.”

“Wasn’t exactly a picnic for me either.” Dean’s breathing has finally slowed down, and he reaches for Sam’s hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “This isn’t cuddling, we’re just…”

“I know.” Sam’s heard that plenty of times already, knows better than to call Dean on his bullshit, and listens until their hearts are beating together. “Starting to think we don’t know as much as we ought to.”

“But we’re learning, Sam.” He leans over, head resting on Sam’s shoulder, very definitely  _ not  _ cuddling. “Learning means getting better.”

Getting better is all Sam really needs right now.

And Bobby, for his part, handles the news surprisingly well, provided that  _ anything  _ that happens under his roof is cleaned up twice before they leave.

Hiding the fact that they broke the frame of the bed isn’t easy, but Bobby doesn’t have to know  _ everything. _

 

___

 

Another long, lonely blast of a Union Pacific freight echoes off of the steep rises of Sun Canyon, the sound of ten thousand horsepower struggling up the grade a low rumble on the gentle night wind.

Sam sees the lights of the train in the distance, beer in hand and Creedence Clearwater Revival playing from inside the Impala. He’s not drunk, just a little buzzed, enjoying the last few gasps of summer night before things start to get cold out west. Even now, the wind carries with it hints of a cold fall, and Sam hopes like hell they’ll be further south before it starts to get too bad. He doesn’t like pulling the car out of snowbanks any more than Dean does.

They’ve been on this ridge since sunset, watching the day end, taking a beat before they find their way back to the motel. They had wrapped up their hunt this afternoon, nothing too hard but they need the night to themselves all the same. Sam’s throat is dry from talking about everything and nothing, lulled by the sound of Dean’s voice, his body heat, scent competing with the dry earth under them. He’s content, comfortable, just close enough that the toe of his boot taps Dean’s every now and then.

Dean uncaps another beer, taking a long pull from the neck before he reaches up and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, something he does quite a lot of these days. “Need a damn haircut,” he grumbles, and Sam gives him his expected eyeroll - but Dean doesn’t stop, and Sam doesn’t pull away.

“Give me three reasons why.” Sam closes his eyes, leaning in, humming when Dean’s fingers go over the back of his neck.

“Because I’m your brother and I said so.”

“That’s only two, and they aren’t very good.”

Dean gets him behind his ear, where the hair is softest, darkest, touched only by him. “You’ll live.”

They’re still getting acclimated to doing this, non-sexual touching, and how… new it is. Rather, how old it was, and how they’re just coming back to doing it. Sam remembers when he was younger, Dean was always reaching for him to comfort him, keep him warm, protective even after Sam was old and strong enough to handle himself. He realizes now that he wasn’t, but eighteen year old Sam wasn’t the most sensible person in the world, either. 

He remembers John, constantly growling at them to stop, take your hands off your brother, the  _ looks  _ he’d give them if Dean sat too close or Sam lingered too long in Dean’s presence. The shame he felt, and could never figure out why. They’d always been like that, close to each other, and then to be told that it was wrong? Bad?

Sam still expects, at times, for John to come out of nowhere and slap their hands away from each other. 

Just under a year of them fighting their way through this, against nature, against each other in some cases, and he’s still hesitant to let Dean just  _ touch  _ him. Not because it feels bad, but they’re still alphas who wound up with a healthy fear of sharing that kind of intimacy. Sam never did get why it had to be such a bad thing, and why some of his early experiences were with other alphas, because they knew. They knew how to touch, satisfy, even if it never did come full circle - he wouldn’t lie to Dean about that.

Dean was his first, in a lot of ways.

And it’s Dean who he wants to be his last.

His fingers pause between Sam’s shoulders, splayed out and warm through his shirt. “You good, Sammy?”

“Sure.” Sam takes another sip, feeling Dean waiting beside him. “It’s not new, you know. For me.”

“Hm?”

Sam turns, folding his body so that his full attention is on Dean, beautiful, pink-cheeked, looking like he has no better place to be in the world. “The attraction to uh, another alpha.”

“Think we covered that one already.” Dean smiles, and Sam does too, dipping his head and gathering his thoughts. He’s been sitting on this for a while, thinking about  _ why  _ for a long damn time now and even when he had kissed his first alpha, he realized he had wanted it to be...something else. Tasting like Dean smelled back then, all rambunctious, indescribable energy, touched with something old and warm, protective. The alpha hadn’t, but Sam had imagined, and for a long time after that. 

The reality is so, so much better.

“No that… I meant, it started earlier. Couldn’t figure out why.” Sam has Dean’s full attention, something that still makes his chest pool with giddiness. “Remember that summer in Tennessee, when you kept complaining about how  _ shit, Sammy, why the hell aren’t you getting sunburnt too  _ and I wore those boardshorts non stop? I… fuck, Dean, it was because I wanted you to look at me. And you did, the whole time, and it felt  _ good. _ ” Sam licks his lips, the confession coming with a flush of embarrassment. “Or the time in South Carolina, when I snuck into that bar behind you, just because I wanted to… I wanted you to be the one to take me home. Wanted to be that person who Dean went with for the night.”

Dean is silent for a long time, vulnerability making his eyes dark and huge. They don’t pick at the shadows of their past often, but out here under the stars they can, their confessions whisked away towards the mountains on the wind. 

“You were just a kid, Sam.”

Sam blinks, words stuck in his throat.

“It wasn’t like that, then. I mean… I wasn’t  _ ever  _ going to do that to you, but yeah, Sam, I noticed you. I liked watching you grow up, that you were… you never…” Dean scrubs a hand over his face, and Sam wonders if he should have left this alone but he’s dying to hear what Dean’s trying so fucking hard to say. “It came later. I couldn’t go with anyone who looked like you. Hazel eyes, brunettes, tall girls - couldn’t do it Sam. Guys either, because… it felt wrong. I lusted after you, yeah, Sammy, but I wasn’t gonna take out my crap on you. You were sixteen, you still had a lot ahead of you and I didn’t want to fuck that up. And it wasn’t necessarily Dad who put a stop to that, the… closeness. I did that all on my own, because I was gonna ruin it.”

They’re both quiet, a whole minute of nothing but the night buzzing around them, breathing, the music in the background ending as the tape reaches its end. Sam isn’t sure what to do, what to say, beyond accept that things are different now, better, and they have each other.

“‘S always been you, Sammy.”

Sam feels his head lighten, the oxygen choked off solely by the weight of Dean’s words.

“I was trying so, so hard to not give in, even that first night at the bar, when you told me, just trying to help me out. But then you opened that door, let me in and I was scared as hell, couldn’t believe…”

Sam leans in, kissing the fragile words right from Dean’s lips, smiling just a hair when Dean kisses him back and pulls Sam in, heart skipping six beats along the way. Dean breaks it after a moment, whispering against his mouth.

“I’m sorry it took so long for it to happen, but Sam… I’m glad it did. Getting to keep this, keep you…” He kisses him again, a little hungrier, more urgent, but it’s familiar, something that Sam doesn’t want to be without.

“I fucking love you Dean.” Sam means it, and the second it’s out of his mouth he has to pull back and wipe the tears from his eyes, laughing. “Sorry, I just…”

“Need a second?” Dean’s wiping his eyes too, still close, kissing Sam’s dimple. “I do too, Sam. I mean… I love you.”

Sam pulls him into his lap and holds him, his broad, powerful alpha of an older brother, the only thing Sam’s ever really lived for, burying his face in his neck and feeling Dean shiver as his scruff tickles his face - but it’s perfect, completely perfect, and Sam isn’t going to dwell on the things that they got wrong in the past. 

From now on, he’ll try to make it as right, as much as it’s within his power to do so.

Starting with kissing Dean until the sun comes up.

 

___

 

“You know, we had enough wood an hour ago, now you’re just showing off.”

Sam laughs, swings the ax again, and comes down near perfectly on the log that he’s aiming for. It splits down the middle, falling to the ground with satisfying thunks. Dean picks them up, adding them to the pile and not for one second does his focus completely leave Sam. Sam picks up another log, lining it up, and gets it right the first swing, the ache in his shoulders and arms a satisfying burn that he’s kind of missed.

Rufus doesn’t know they’re here. He’s in Florida, maybe, and the cabin is pretty much perfect for what’s about to happen. Already is, rather. Their rut has synced up, and Sam’s got a whole fucking lot of extra testosterone he needs to do something with but he doesn’t want Dean just yet, wants to move and destroy things and just be aware of his own fucking body. Dean’s certainly got his completely focus on him, eyes following the muscle in his body every time he lifts the ax to bring it back down, stripped to the waist and sweating so much that even the autumn air isn’t cutting through the sweat rolling down his back.

Dean starts to bring him another log, sweating as much as Sam, if not more, shirt pasted to him so that his nipples show right through the threadbare material. Sam watches, sniffing the air as Dean walks past and fuck, Dean’s just as musky as him right now, just the tiniest sweetness of slick caressing Sam’s nose. Sam drops the ax and stretches the burn from his shoulders, catching Dean by the back of is jeans as he’s bending over to pick up another log from the pile.

“Hey.” Sam licks the back of Dean’s neck, right up to his ear, his entire body thrumming with the first taste of his mate. “Lookin’ awfully fuckin’ good in those jeans, Dean.”

Dean presses back, turning his head and grabbing a handful of Sam’s hair, taking the sweat of his neck right off of Sam’s tongue. “Stop feeling up the help and pick up your ax.” He doesn’t let go of Sam, taking another long, tongue-heavy kiss. They’ve got this dance down to a perfect art, winding each other up until one of them finally says fuck it and they let hormones and base instinct take over. Sam isn’t far from that, and with the way Dean smells right now, it’s getting closer with every passing minute. 

“Would rather pick  _ you  _ up.” Sam lets him go and growls, swinging his ax, all long-bodied movement and barely contained lust, licking his lips again when Dean brings him the log and scents his neck, backing away just before Sam swings and splits, pulling the ax up and finishing the log with his bare hands. 

“Show off,” Dean teases, fingers brushing Sam’s as he takes the two pieces and adds them to the pile. Dean pulls his shirt off, leaving him in nothing but his amulet and jeans, showing off those perky fucking nipples, giving Sam as much of an eyeful as he cares to take. Dean’s dark blonde pit hair flashes when he raises his arm to wipe his mouth, and it’s incredible, really how easily that switch is flipped and Sam suddenly doesn’t give two shits anymore about chopping wood, grabbing Dean with a growl that comes out way more animalistic than it should have.

“You want somethin’?” Dean licks his mouth, teeth bared as he scrapes them over Sam’s jaw. “Or are you just gonna take?”

Sam growls again, hands sliding down Dean’s back until his fingertips are just under the waistband of Dean’s jeans. “You know what I want.” Another inch, and he’s got Dean pressed against him, giving him just enough room to get his right hand all the way in and slide a couple of fingers down to his hole. Dean’s already wet, probably has been for a while now, considering how thoroughly soaked the seat of Dean’s underwear is.

Dean moans, low in his throat, and he’s offering himself without a second thought, licking at the sweat dripping from Sam’s neck and throat. “You have about five goddamn seconds before I put you on the ground and do it myself.”

Before Dean can make good on that promise, Sam’s got him in the air and slamming him up against the side of the cabin, tearing into his mouth and body, kissing him with a bite that Dean warns him off of pressing too hard. He eases up, just a little, his tongue sliding in next to Dean’s, keeping his arms pinned above his head so that he can drink in Dean’s musk. He goes down, further and further, until he’s at Dean’s waist, licking along the bottom of his stomach as he lowers his jeans.

“Gonna fucking  _ ruin  _ you, Dean.” Sam yanks the rest of Dean’s clothing away, freeing his legs so that he’s left in nothing at all, covered in sweat and sawdust, sap on his hands and arms clinging like an aphrodisiac. “Gonna pick you up and fuck you, just like this.”

Dean’s eyes go wide, watching Sam get his cock out and no, that wasn’t idle shit talk, he’s going to lift Dean clear of the ground and he fucking does, pulling him down on his cock with nothing but muscle memory, filling him in one long, fast push. Dean’s back arches, held up by nothing but Sam’s arms and the faded wall of the cabin behind him. 

“Goddamn monster,” Dean moans, filled up and fucked, slicking dripping down his body and onto Sam’s thighs. Precome blurts against his stomach as Sam jams him against the wall, diving for his neck and biting, his mind shouting  _ Dean Dean Dean,  _ a hymn that he wants to scream at the top of his lungs. He’s worshiped him since before he could remember, paying it back with hard, fast thrusts that signal immediately this is gonna be a hard, nasty rut, one that leaves them both so completely wrung out that they can’t function right for a couple of days afterward. Sam’s fine with that, knows Dean is too, giving himself over and letting it all fucking go. Nothing matters but this, the pleasure they’re stripping from each other, Dean suspended in his arms, his perfect, wet hole closing around his cockwith a greed that has precious little to do with his body responding in any sort of natural way.

That’s all Dean, wanting Sam for nothing and no one but himself.

“C’mon, Sam, fucking breed my ass.” Dean’s got his arms around his neck, holding himself up, one foot braced against the porch post to his left. “Gonna leave my cunt dripping all fucking week, aren’t you, ready to slide in any goddamn time you want.” Dean’s mouth goes off, spouting the nastiest fucking shit he’s yet heard from him,  _ your slut, Sammy, that’s what I am, fucking needy alpha slut, can’t think about any goddamn thing except your cock filling me up  _ and it’s fucked up, fantastic, hurtling Sam fast over the cliff, his knot catching and holding until he’s losing it, coming with a roar that makes him feel like he’s being pulled apart, cell by cell, watching Dean come all over his own body, hands free, the tang of come and alpha musk sticking to the air and painting their skin. 

It’s a fucking drug, and Sam licks Dean’s chest, feeding it right back to him, still holding Dean up, sweating so much that he can feel the skin rubbing raw where Dean’s trying to keep his grip on his neck.

Dean climbs out of his rut hole, just long enough to signal  _ we’re going down  _ and Sam ends up on his back, the earth damp under his back with Dean on top of him, still stuffed full of his cock. He’s breathing hard, flushed all the way down to his stomach, eyes locked with Sam’s. His cock is still throbbing, hard as steel when Sam reaches up and twists, milking fat, pearly drops of come onto his stomach.

“You’re still coming Sam.” Dean clenches around his knot, making them both growl, and God, he is, isn’t he, filling Dean up. “I swear to God you’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Cause I can pick you up and wreck you? Yeah, whatever.” Sam grits his teeth, fucking up into Dean as it finally ends, senses heightened and wanting more. Dean leans down, kisses him, softer this time, bringing with him his musk and scent and Sam knocks his arm out of the way, licking Dean’s pit out with the same greed that Dean showed him a couple weeks ago.

He gets why Dean got so hooked on it that first time, and every moan he pulls from Dean’s mouth with his tongue is pure fucking music.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Dean growls, thrusting into Sam’s hand, right until Sam gets the picture and jerks him off, his knot so thick at his base that Sam can’t get his fingers all the way around it and Dean comes again, Sam’s tongue under his arm and his come flooding his chest, growling and clawing at nothing, finally having to push Sam away because it’s too much.

Sam lays back, hands on Dean’s hips, covered in sweat and come, finally sated for the moment, drowning in the contented glassiness in Dean’s expression. “You have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to make you come like that?”

“No, but I have a pretty fucking good idea.” Dean grins, sliding his fingers through the mess on Sam’s body and tasting it. Sam watches, part of him still a little unbelieving that he’s the one who got Dean to this point.

He has to stay down until his knot loosens, and when Dean gets up, he feels the mess run out of him. Dean tries to shimmy away from it, making Sam laugh. “You good?”

Dean glares at him, wincing as he walks towards the porch. “Get your ass in here, your fucking woodpile can wait.”

Sam, to his credit, leaves “fucking wood” alone - but watching Dean try to get out of the way of his own body?

He’s never going to see anything better.


End file.
